It was a time, before sleep.
Here, sleep was an idea with the idea of uncurling, a seed just deciding to sprout.
Yet it so desperately needed the gentle touch of rain.
There is no rain in space.
Celestia yawned, and rubbed her weary eyes.
Again the child cried.
His cry was piercing. It rippled through his gaseous cosmic crib, and through the fabric of space and time.
That sound would have wounded the organs of any other creature capable of perceiving sound. If there was such a creature that is. Space is a vast place, with Suns and Sons few and far between.
This son, was her first. And though motherhood was still very new and strange to her, she was patient, and kind. There was none better for the task at hand. This does not mean that she knew at all what she was doing. With the eyes of a mortal she might be seen as an ancient being, but in the eyes of all she knew little more than the babe in the cradle.
Will the child cease to cry?
Gently she took the wailing babe, swapping his cradle with that of her white wings. Tendrils of fire singed her feathers, but that she did not mind.
To him she crooned a wordless tune. She had heard it so long ago, when she herself was but a foal. The memories ought to be fuzzy and warped, but they remained clear as day, hummed softly within the dark folds of time and mind.
The child fell silent, and she was glad.
She smiled.
Many an age had come and gone, but to Celestia, her Son's infancy had vanished with the closing of her eyes.
She looked upon the years that had passed with fondness and yet without longing; The purest form of remembrance, images kept close to the heart, but without envy, allowing one to hold past and present with both hooves.
The space in which the mother and child has lingered had grown. Not simply in expanse, but in substance as well, not unlike mother and child.
The space was dancing, atoms and dust and unborn celestial children spiraled in controlled chaos, with mother and child lost, but all together found, somewhere within.
He was older now, and so was she.
Sleep was now a tangible thing, enjoyed by the pair greatly.
But now comes a time for greater things than sleep.
The time would be soon upon them, the earth was to be born.
Celestia careened the voids that served as their home, down the starlit hallways, to the room where her son peacefully slumbered. The handle softened within the grip of her wing, and as she knocked on the door, fragments of its starry material flung themselves from it and faded to sparkling ash, soon to be swept up by the winds of the void.
She slowly pushed the door open.
"Good morning!" she said,
"It's time to wake up for school Son!"
Upon his twin bed of star stuff, her son grumbled and turned.
Flaming tendrils pulled cool and glimmering blankets over his face.
"Iduuunnttwuunnagoo," he mumbled, burying his face into the heavenly pillow.
She glided to the foot of his bed, and sat down.
Tenderly one white wing was placed upon his back.
"Now Son," she said,
"You must get up for school, the planets must come into form!"
He groaned again,
"IIIIIIIIduuunnnnttttwunnnnaaaannnnnuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuoooooooooooooooooo," burying himself deeper into the luminescent blankets.
She pressed her wing firmly, but gently, into his back. She softly shook him.
"Come on now," she spoke.
He grumbled once more, and then lept up when it became very clear that his mother would not leave him alone.
He rotated and spun in a great frenzy.
About the room, with its walls of void and star, he spun with such ferocity that the very walls crumbled apart.
The pieces were brought to him by the forces, and spiraled around him with great haste. The child's playthings, dolls, and crayons joined the heavenly spiral until they were broken down to nothing but color and dust. The winds blew these colors into her mane, staining it. This is the source of the three hues known to all mortal equines.
The celestial winds whipped about time and space, down to the very hairs stemming from Celestia's head.
The winds he cast out through the void were so powerful, that to this day, her hair still ripples and flows from its force.
Time is funny that way.
The fragments of their heavenly castle where thrown about, and that is how heaven was destroyed, by the making of a star. The stability of the sun, moon, and the great circles of planets arises from this moment of destruction. Her Son, well he was simply perfect!
She would smile later at the pure symmetry.
Here we have a being, her Son, who is responsible for the creation of the earth, upon which we humble ponies live. The creation of our reasonably stable planet is indebted to many moment of chaos and passion. Unbearably similar to the manner in which the creator was conceived.
Her Son's frustration at responsibility was a passion no different from the passion that he unknowingly arose from.
The earth was born from a Son's frustration with his mother, and the Son was born from the frustrations of Mother with Father.
Two beings meeting together in with frustrations so passionate, they shook the very space of heaven, deep to its atomic bones. They created stability and instability within one being, and if that is not passionate, then I do not know what is.
She could laugh at herself for expecting her Son to be any less than his father.
Such destruction, and yet such vitality and joy!
Such chaos.
Such...Discord.
And the time would come, many millennia down the road, when faced with war and death and destruction and terrors, all indebted to the creation of the earth, Princess Celestia would look back upon her long life and think,
"Hot damn, I should have used a condom!"
